Finding Love After the Drain

Emily' s smile was as bright as the new silver pen she held out to me, a pen she said would bring me good luck for finding a new job. But I knew better. Every "lucky" gift from her had cost me dearly.

My last job, a stable marketing position, vanished after she gave me a "lucky" desktop plant. Then a designer handbag led to my wallet being stolen. And a set of wine glasses she gave me and Mark on our anniversary led to our worst fight ever, and then he left me, only to start dating Emily two weeks later.

They became the city' s golden couple, their success built on my ruin. My parents, who adored Emily, couldn't see it. "Things just seem to go wrong around you, Sarah," my boss had said, echoing my family' s common accusation: I was truly unlucky.

But I knew the truth. Emily had confessed it herself: "Because you had all the luck, Sarah. These little gifts... they' re not for you. They' re for me. They take your good fortune and transfer it to me. Your job paid for my gallery representation. Your boyfriend... well, I think I' ll keep him. You' re not unlucky, Sarah. You' re a battery. And you' re just about drained."

Now, holding a pen that felt like poison, I realized I wouldn' t be a victim anymore. My old self had died with everything I' d lost, but a new, cold resolve was forming. I was a battery, yes, but now I would choose who got drained. I reached into my purse for my grandmother' s locket, the one thing Emily had never touched, my last hope. The game was about to change.

Emily' s smile was as bright as the new silver pen she held out to me. It gleamed under the flat, unforgiving light of my tiny, cramped apartment.

"For you, Sarah," she said, her voice full of that practiced warmth that always made my stomach clench. "I know how hard you' ve been looking for a new job. I thought a nice pen might bring you some good luck for the applications."

A new job. I needed one because the last one I had, a stable position at a downtown marketing firm, disappeared after Emily gifted me a beautiful, 'lucky' desktop plant. A week after I put it on my desk, the company' s main server crashed, wiping out a multi-million dollar campaign I was in charge of. They fired me on the spot. They said I was careless. My boss, a man who had praised my work for three years, couldn' t even look me in the eye.

He just said, "Things just seem to go wrong around you, Sarah."

That was two months ago.

Before that, there was the 'thoughtful' gift of a designer handbag. The day I started using it, my wallet was stolen, along with my ID and every cent I had. Emily had hugged me, telling me how awful my luck was.

And before that, there was the set of exquisite wine glasses she gave me and Mark for our anniversary. The night we used them, Mark and I had the worst fight of our five-year relationship. He said things I could never forget, and I screamed back things I didn' t know were inside me. A week later, he left me. Two weeks after that, he was dating Emily.

Now they were the city' s golden couple. He was a rising architect, and she was a celebrated artist whose paintings suddenly started selling for incredible sums. Everyone said they were blessed.

I looked at the pen in her hand. It was an elegant, expensive-looking thing. I knew, with a certainty that settled cold and hard in my gut, that it was poison.

A memory flashed through my mind, unbidden. Me, at my lowest point, a week after Mark had left. I had gone to Emily' s spacious, sunlit studio, begging for an explanation. I was crying, my face a mess, my world shattered.

"Why, Emily? Why is this happening to me?"

She had looked at me, not with pity, but with a cruel, triumphant glint in her eyes. She picked up a small, carved wooden bird from her desk, another one of her 'gifts' to me that I had stupidly left behind.

"Because you had all the luck, Sarah," she had whispered, her voice a venomous hiss. "You always did. The firstborn. The one Mom and Dad were always proud of. The one who got the good grades, the good boyfriend. I was just the shadow."

She caressed the wooden bird. "So I found a way to take it. These little gifts... they' re not for you. They' re for me. They take your good fortune and transfer it to me. Every time you lose something, I gain something."

She smiled then, a wide, terrible smile. "Your job paid for my gallery representation. Your boyfriend... well, I think I' ll keep him. You' re not unlucky, Sarah. You' re a battery. And you' re just about drained."

I had stumbled out of her studio that day, the truth a living, breathing monster chasing me down the street. No one would ever believe me. My parents adored Emily. They' d just shake their heads and say, "Oh, Sarah, you' re just jealous. Don' t be a jinx."

Now, standing in my bleak apartment, I looked from the pen back to her smiling face. The old Sarah would have broken down, screamed, or thrown the pen back at her.

But that Sarah was gone. She had died with my job, my relationship, and my family' s love.

I forced a weak, grateful smile onto my own face.

"Thank you, Emily. That' s so thoughtful."

My voice was hollow, but she didn' t seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn' t care.

"Of course," she said, pressing the cold metal into my palm. "Anything for my big sister."

I closed my fingers around it, the smooth surface feeling like a snake' s skin. I felt a familiar wave of dizziness, a faint, metallic taste in my mouth. It was the feeling of my own life being siphoned away. But this time, underneath the weakness, a cold, hard resolve was forming. I wasn' t a victim anymore. I was a survivor, and I was going to fight back.

"I have to run," Emily said, glancing at her expensive watch. "Mark is taking me to that new French restaurant tonight to celebrate my latest commission."

She air-kissed my cheek, her perfume cloying and sweet. "Do try to cheer up, Sarah. Maybe your luck will turn around soon."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I dropped the act. My hand flew to my chest, where a small, cool lump rested against my skin, hidden under my shirt. It was my grandmother' s locket. My mother had tried to give it to Emily, saying it would suit her better, but my grandmother, in her last lucid moments, had pressed it into my hand and whispered, "This is the family' s true fortune, Sarah. Don' t ever let it go."

Emily had never known about it. It was the one piece of me she hadn' t been able to touch, to poison, to drain. It was my last hope.

I looked at the pen in my hand. It was a beautiful instrument of my destruction. But not anymore. Now, it was going to be a weapon.

I knew exactly what to do with it.

The next day, I went to a coffee shop near the city' s main military headquarters. A few weeks ago, in a moment of distraction, I had found a wallet on the sidewalk. It belonged to a high-ranking officer, Commander David Stone. I had returned it to the base, and he had insisted on buying me a coffee to thank me. He was a serious man, with sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through people. He spoke about duty, honor, and integrity. He was everything my family and my ex-boyfriend were not.

I sat at a small table, nursing a cheap coffee, and waited. As I' d hoped, he came in around noon for his lunch break. He spotted me and gave a small nod of recognition.

"Miss Miller. Good to see you again."

"Commander Stone," I said, standing up. "It' s a coincidence running into you."

"Please, call me David."

We made small talk for a minute, then I reached into my bag.

"This is going to sound strange," I said, pulling out the silver pen. "But I wanted to give you this. As a thank you for the coffee, and... for your service. A man in your position, doing such important work for the country, deserves a fine writing instrument."

He looked surprised, but he took the pen, his fingers brushing against mine. I flinched internally but kept my expression neutral.

"That' s very generous of you, but completely unnecessary," he said, examining the pen. It did look impressive.

"Please," I insisted. "I' d feel better. Good luck with your work, Commander."

I turned and walked out of the coffee shop, not looking back. I didn' t know what the pen would do, but I knew its curse was no longer aimed at me. It was now in the hands of a powerful, principled man. I was counting on him to notice when things went wrong.

The fallout was faster and more dramatic than I could have ever imagined.

That evening, the local news was on at the small diner where I was eating a bowl of soup I could barely afford. A breaking news alert flashed across the screen.

"Chaos at the Northern Military Command headquarters today as a critical server network crashed, leading to the temporary corruption of sensitive defense logistics data. Sources say the crash originated in the office of Commander David Stone, a highly respected officer. An investigation is underway..."

My soup spoon clattered against the bowl. It had worked.

My phone rang. It was my mother.

"Sarah! Did you see the news?" her voice was frantic. "They' re talking about that military base! Weren' t you just there the other day?"

"I returned a wallet, Mom. That' s all."

"Your father and I are so worried! It' s just... things like this always seem to happen around you! It' s that awful luck of yours. First your job, and now this! You were near that Commander, weren' t you? I hope you didn' t jinx him!"

Before I could respond, another call came through. It was Mark. I let my mother' s call go to voicemail and answered.

"Sarah, what did you do?" he demanded, his voice laced with accusation.

"What are you talking about, Mark?"

"The military base! Emily is terrified. She gave you that pen to help you, and you go and get involved in some kind of national security incident! You' re like a walking disaster! Stay away from us, Sarah. Stay away from Emily. You' re nothing but a curse."

He hung up.

I sat there in the noisy diner, the voices of my mother and my ex-boyfriend echoing in my head. They blamed me. Instantly, without a second thought. I was the jinx. The curse. The unlucky one.

For the first time in a long time, a real, genuine smile touched my lips. It felt cold and sharp.

Let them think that. Their blindness was my new shield. And the war had just begun.

The next afternoon, Mark found me. I was at the public library, using their computers to search for jobs I knew I wouldn' t get. He walked right up to my table, his face a mask of self-righteous fury. Emily trailed a few steps behind him, looking concerned and fragile, the perfect picture of a worried sister.

"We need to talk, Sarah," Mark said, his voice low and aggressive, drawing looks from the other patrons.

"We have nothing to talk about," I said, not looking up from the screen.

"Don' t play dumb. That Commander Stone. I heard he' s under investigation. All because of you. Emily gave you that pen out of the goodness of her heart, and you somehow managed to turn it into a weapon."

His words were absurd, but the conviction in his voice was absolute. He truly believed I was some kind of malevolent force of nature.

"Are you even listening to yourself, Mark?" I finally turned to face him, my voice calm and cutting. "You think a pen I held for five minutes crashed a military server? Is that what Emily told you? Or did you come up with that brilliant theory all on your own?"

Emily stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Mark' s arm. "Sarah, please. We' re just worried. Mark is just upset because he cares about me, and he knows how much I care about you."

The hypocrisy was so thick I could almost taste it.

"You care about me?" I laughed, a short, bitter sound that made a nearby librarian frown. "Is that why you took my boyfriend? Or was that just another one of your lucky acquisitions?"

Mark' s face turned red. "Leave her out of this! This is about you and your toxic bad luck!"

"My bad luck," I repeated slowly, standing up to face him. We were in the middle of the library' s quiet reading area. People were staring openly now. "Let me tell you about my bad luck, Mark."

I picked up the lukewarm coffee I' d been drinking from the table.

"My bad luck is having a sister who is a leech and a sociopath. My bad luck was trusting a man who had the spine of a jellyfish."

I took a step closer to him. He was wearing an expensive, cream-colored cashmere sweater. A new purchase, no doubt. Paid for by Emily' s good fortune. My good fortune.

"And my bad luck," I said softly, "is that I' m always so clumsy."

I let the cup tilt, as if by accident. The dark brown liquid splashed all over the front of his sweater, creating a huge, ugly stain.

He gasped, jumping back. "What the hell, Sarah!"

Emily rushed to his side, dabbing at the stain with a napkin from her purse. "Oh, Mark, your sweater! Sarah, how could you be so careless!"

I looked at them, a perfect couple united in their outrage against me. And I felt nothing but a cold, clean satisfaction.

"Oops," I said, my voice dripping with false innocence. "My jinx must be acting up again."

I walked away, leaving them to deal with the mess. As I left the library, I reached into my purse to find my keys and my fingers brushed against something small and hard that shouldn' t have been there. It was a small, smooth gray stone, cool to the touch. I' d never seen it before. Emily must have slipped it into my bag at the apartment. Another little gift. Another little curse.

I walked to the nearest storm drain, looked both ways, and dropped the stone through the grate. It disappeared into the darkness below with a faint plink. One down.

Two days later, Emily cornered me outside my apartment building. She was holding a beautiful, soft-looking scarf, a swirl of blues and grays.

"Sarah! I' m so glad I caught you," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She looked a little tired, with faint circles under her eyes. Perhaps her last curse failing had cost her something.

"I saw that you ruined Mark' s sweater," she said, her tone reproachful. "You really need to be more careful. But I know you' ve been under a lot of stress. I thought this might cheer you up. The colors would look lovely on you."

She held out the scarf. I could feel the faint, cold energy coming off it, a familiar draining sensation.

"Thank you, Emily," I said, taking it from her. "It' s beautiful."

This time, I didn' t even wait a day. I packaged the scarf neatly and sent it via messenger to Commander Stone' s office, with a simple note: "A small token for your aide, who was so helpful on the phone. Thank you for your time." I knew from my brief interaction that he had a young, female assistant who was always shivering in the overly air-conditioned government building. It was a plausible gift.

That night, my parents demanded I come over for dinner. It was an ambush.

The moment I walked in the door, my father grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"What is wrong with you?" he growled, his face inches from mine. "First you make a scene at the library, and now Emily tells me you' re mixed up with that military man again!"

"I' m not mixed up with anyone," I said, trying to pull my arm away.

"Don' t lie to us!" my mother shrieked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, wiping her hands on her apron, her face twisted with anger. "Emily is worried sick about you! She tries so hard to help you, to give you nice things, and you just throw it all back in her face! You' re ungrateful, Sarah! You' ve always been jealous of your sister' s blessings!"

"Her blessings?" I snapped, finally yanking my arm free. "You have no idea what her 'blessings' are."

"Don' t you dare speak about your sister that way!" My mother' s hand flew out and slapped me hard across the face.

The sting was sharp, shocking me into silence. I stared at her, my cheek burning. She had never hit me before.

Behind them, in the doorway to the dining room, Emily was watching. And for a split second, as she saw the red mark blooming on my cheek, her mask slipped. I saw a flicker of pure, unadulterated pleasure in her eyes.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a look of horror.

"Mom, no!" she cried, rushing forward. "Don' t hurt her!"

As she moved, she stumbled, a small gasp escaping her lips. She clutched her head, her face suddenly pale.

"Emily? What is it?" my father asked, all his attention immediately shifting to her.

"My head," she moaned, swaying on her feet. "It' s... it' s splitting open."

She collapsed onto the sofa, curling into a ball and whimpering. A thin trickle of blood suddenly ran from her right nostril, bright and red against her white skin.

My parents were instantly at her side, fussing over her, their panic and concern a stark contrast to the violence they had just shown me.

I stood there, watching the scene, my cheek throbbing. The scarf. Its curse had been meant for me-headaches, confusion, maybe a dizzy spell that would make me fall down the stairs. But it had found a new target, and the backlash on its creator was immediate and visceral.

My father turned to me, his eyes blazing with a new kind of hatred.

"Look what you' ve done," he hissed. "You and your bad energy. You' ve made your sister sick. Get out."

"What?" I whispered.

"Get out of my house!" he roared, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "You are a jinx, a poison in this family. Take your bad luck and go! Don' t come back until you' ve learned to be grateful for what you have!"

My mother didn' t even look at me. She was too busy stroking Emily' s hair, murmuring comforting words.

I looked at their faces-my father' s rage, my mother' s blind devotion, Emily' s feigned suffering-and I knew with chilling certainty that I had no family left. The people I loved were gone, replaced by these strangers who looked at me and saw only a monster.

I turned without another word and walked out the door, into the cold night. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

I stood on the sidewalk, the familiar sting of tears welling in my eyes. But I forced them back. I wouldn' t cry. Not for them.

I started walking, with no destination in mind. After a few blocks, I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets for warmth.

My fingers closed around a small, sharp object. I pulled it out and looked at it under the dim glow of a streetlamp.

It was a small, intricately carved silver pin, shaped like a scorpion. Its tail was arched, the stinger sharp enough to draw blood.

He must have put it there. My father. When he grabbed my arm. A final, parting gift from my loving family.

A new wave of cold, much deeper than the night air, washed over me. They weren' t just letting Emily destroy me anymore. They were actively helping her.